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Jonah

His hands were shaking as the officer placed the receiver in his palm.

“What’s the number?” the man asked. He wasn’t the same one who had been in the motel room with Jonah. Jonah hadn’t seen him since he put the handcuffs on and dropped him in the back of the police car.

He closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on the panic that was clawing up his chest, into his throat. This couldn’t be happening. Dominic told him this wouldn’t happen. It was a dream. The whole thing, everything that happened from the moment he’d stepped off the bus at Union Station was just some horrible nightmare.

“The number,” the officer asked again, patience thinning. Jonah flinched.

For a wild, surreal moment, he considered calling his mom. The numbers were there at the tip of his tongue, the first he had ever memorized and knew by heart even still. It was only the thought of her rejection, the probability that she would hear his desperate voice on the end of the line and hang up the phone, that stopped him .

Instead, he asked the officer to check his phone for Dominic’s phone number. It was the only one he had saved since Dom bought it for him a month earlier.

His sweaty fingers slipped over the plastic as a voice in his ear told him that this call was being monitored and recorded. It rang three times before Dominic picked up.

“Hello?” He sounded worried. The sound of his voice tamped down on some of the fear that tried to close Jonah’s throat.

“I need your help,” Jonah said.

Jonah was careful as he told him where he was and what had happened, mindful of whoever might be listening to this call. He left out any details that would have implicated Dominic for his part in it, omitting the part where Dominic had been the one to set up the meeting with the man who turned out to be an undercover cop.

Dominic was quiet for so long that Jonah thought he hung up. Then he said, “Okay. It’s going to be okay.” Nothing in his tone aligned with the words, but Jonah nodded, desperate for some hope to cling to. “Jonah, I know someone. Okay? I know a guy who can help you out. He can... I’ll call him, and he can talk to your lawyer, and they can work it out.”

“What guy?” Jonah shook his head. “I don’t have a lawyer.”

Dominic made a sound that was almost a sigh. “They have to give you a lawyer if you ask for one, Jonah. You need to ask for one.”

There was still so much he didn’t know.

“Who is this guy?” he asked again. “What can he do?”

“He’s just...” Dominic paused. “He’s someone I used to know. He runs a program here in the city. For young guys, your age. Keeping them clean, off the streets, out of jail. They work with the legal system. They might be able to get you a deal.”

“I can’t go to prison.” Even the words, as they trembled out of him, sounded like something from a far-off nightmare.

“I’ll call him,” Dominic promised. “Okay? He...” There was a long, crackling pause. “He helped me once before. Maybe he can help you, too.”

Something in his voice told Jonah he might be the only one who could.

If he had been able to see through his panic in the moment, Jonah might have detected the note of regret in Dom’s voice.

He wasn’t expecting that phone call to be their last.

But when Jonah was released two days later, after a brief court hearing, into the supervision of Ross Shepard, the phone Dominic had given him had been deactivated. And he was nowhere to be found.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 1

“What happened to you?”

Liam’s eyes dropped to Jonah’s arms as soon as he opened the door, which he knew was going to happen. Jonah had been dreading it all day, knowing there was no way to hide the evidence or avoid the confrontation. In addition to its inadequacy against the brutal temperatures, his threadbare t-shirt betrayed a collage of bruises mottled along both arms, reaching a peak at the wrists.

He curled in on himself, but even the pressure of crossing his arms over his body triggered a flare of pain. For once, he wished he would have taken Liam up on his offer to keep his borrowed hoodie between visits. Jonah never wanted to risk it getting damaged or stolen at the shelter, and he could admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t want it to lose its familiar, comforting scent. He didn’t want it to stop smelling like Liam.

Just this once, though, it would have been nice to be able to cover up.

“I’m fine.” He kept his gaze leveled on the carpet as he stepped into the room, kicking off his shoes in the corner. “Just had a bad night.”

“‘A bad...?’ Jonah, you’re covered in bruises.” Liam closed the door behind them, following him into the room.

“It looks worse than it is,” he lied.

“It looks like someone beat the shit out of you.”

“Maybe someone did.”

They both stopped moving. Jonah’s eyes fell to the pile of clothes on the bed. The usual thick sweatpants and the maroon sweatshirt. Having them in such close proximity made him ache for their warmth. He usually waited until after he showered, wanting to rinse away the grime of his week before touching Liam’s things, but tonight...

“Can I put them on?” he asked.

“What?” Liam said, then followed his line of sight to the clothes. His eyes, hard with worry, softened. “Of course,” he said, picking up the pile and handing it over .

Jonah bit down on a groan as he lifted his arms over his head to pull the shirt into place. The flare of pain was worth enduring for the immediate comfort.

Liam wasn’t ready to let it drop.

“Was this. . . ?” Liam swallowed audibly. “Did one of your. . . the guys you go to see. . . ?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jonah asked with more heat than he’d intended.

Silence. Liam pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth, watching him.

“Jonah,” he said. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but if you decide you want to go to the police to get help, the offer is always on the table. I’ll go with you. You know I will.”

“Liam,” he warned.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, I won’t push, okay? I just hate seeing you like this. I hate knowing what you go back to when you leave here.”

“It’s not always like this.”

“The fact that it’s sometimes like this is bad enough.”

Jonah was quiet in the face of that truth.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” Liam asked. When Jonah looked up to meet his gaze, there were tiny splotches of red forming at the corners of Liam’s eyes. “Anything at all?”

He thought if Liam started crying right now—crying because of him —it might snap his last threads of composure. Jonah took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose .

“I’m okay,” he promised, tamping down on the small voice inside him that wanted to cry out, help me, help me, help me. “I just don’t want to think about it tonight. Please.”

At length, Liam nodded, conceding. “Yeah,” he said, blinking away the start of tears. “Okay. Whatever you need.” He cleared his throat, reaching for his backpack beside the bed. “Lucky for you, I come bearing hours worth of distractions.”

When he lifted his calculus textbook into view, Jonah smiled, ignoring the tug on his split lip.

“Making me understand mathematical concepts is a full-time job,” Liam said, and they both ignored the watery shake to his voice. “I assure you, your mind will be fully consumed.”

Jonah sank down on the edge of the bed, concealing a wince. “I’m up for the challenge.”